all there is to it
by kohee
Summary: Four times Barba and Olivia lost each other, and the one time they found each other. Post 19x03 scenarios. Barba/Benson


one-shot; _all there is to it_  
pairing: rafael barba/olivia benson  
word count: 4980 words  
note: my sort of fix-it for the episode that must not be named. It's 'sort of' because actually, it all doesn't end well, except for the last one. It's not connected though, so do read each as a stand-alone, cos it makes no freaking sense otherwise. More notes at the end.

* * *

 _one: and now we're just strangers (passing by)_

It was almost three months later when Olivia saw Barba again. Three months since he told her she had changed his life, and then he left her standing on the steps of the courthouse, alone. Three months since she last saw him, heard his voice, felt his arm around her, felt his lips on her forehead. And in those three months, her calls were ignored, her texts went unanswered, and in between making excuses after excuses regarding his absence to Noah, her sorrow had faded away, and only leaving behind the vestiges of anger.

She understood he needed time, and she could give him that, but three months of nothing was just a bit too much (and that itself, was an understatement). She thought she had meant more him than this; radio silence after seeing him through _all of that_ made her feel that perhaps she never meant that much to him, that it was all one-sided on her behalf (maybe it was all lies, the colors, he was her, everything).

She saw him standing by the coffee cart, _their_ favourite coffee cart, his suit fitted and crisp, pocket square not an inch out of place, hair styled and combed, looking like he had never left brought forth emotions that she was not able to understand in their entirety. Because she was not prepared for this, not prepared to see him again when she least expected it.

She stood still, unmoving, waiting for him to turn around, waiting for him to see her. She wasn't prepared for this, yes, but she wasn't going to run away. Because she wasn't the one who left, it was him; he had left her behind.

He didn't turn around after taking his coffee, instead he began heading towards the opposite direction. And it was hard to pinpoint what she was feeling when he moved a step, two steps, further away from her. Was it disappointment? Relief? Anger? All of that, she thought. The feeling of déjà vu sweeping into her almost made her tremble, after all, it felt pretty raw to see him walking away from her again.

And then, for some reason, he stopped walking. And then he turned around. His eyes swept around the crowd, and then they rested on her. There was no surprise, no shock on his face; it could hardly be surprising to see her in front of the court house (where he had left her), but his eyes widened, and he began making his way towards her, a tentative smile on his face.

"Liv," he said, stopping in front of her, his smile widening a little, but his eyes were slightly guarded. "How are you?"

She stared back at him, thoughts and words and phrases flying through her mind, but none of it could be verbalised. _How are you._ What an utterly inane question. _How do you think I am, you asshole? You left me, you fucking left me._ He doesn't get to do this, she thought, to come up to her and smile and make small talk and act as if nothing had happened, as if he had never abandoned her, as if he never broke her heart.

She turned away from him, and let out a pained laugh. "Really, Barba? That's the best you can manage after three months of nothing?"

His face twisted slightly, and he reached out a hand towards her, fingers almost at her wrist when she flinched, and took a step back. "I am fine," she tossed out sarcastically. "Just _fine."_

With that, she held her head high, and brushed past him, as she would with any stranger blocking her way. All the same, she knew that if he called out to her, if he had reached out to her again, she would stop walking. She would turn around.

He didn't.

So, she continued on, her steps heavy and brisk as she marched up the steps to the court house. This time, she would be the one to leave him.

If he wanted her out of his life, then she would not stay in it.

* * *

 _two: i'm sorry i never said a proper goodbye (i would have wanted to)_

Barba texted Liv the night he told her he had to move on. _I'm going to Cuba,_ he wrote. _I need to get away from here, clear my head, and think about where to go from here._ Because he wasn't who he thought he was anymore.

 _How long?_ She texted back.

 _Two weeks. Just two weeks._

 _And you'll come back?_

 _Yes, I'll come back._

She was silent for a long while, and he could see her typing, and erasing, and typing, and then her reply, two precise words, flashed on the screen of his phone ten minutes after he sent the last message. _…To me?_

His reply was swift and immediate. _Yes, to you._

0-0

Their reunion wasn't supposed to be this way, he thought. He had envisioned himself showing up at her apartment, telling her that although he hadn't found himself yet, he had found her (in two weeks, he realised he had found her a long time ago) and he wasn't planning on letting her go again. He imagined it to be a scene out of some cheesy, romantic movie, where she would smile and nod, and he'd sweep her up in his arms, and they'd live happily ever after.

Instead, he was lying on a hospital bed, unable to move, with every inch of his body hurting, where every single breath drew in was agony. The last thing he remembered was texting her in his Uber, where he was on his way to her. He had looked up to see a bus careening towards the car, and then there was darkness. And pain.

There were slivers of light now, but the pain persisted. He heard voices, murmurs spinning themselves into a buzz, only catching words here and there.

 _Internal bleeding…too severe…_

 _But surely…you can…_

 _There's nothing…we can do for him._

He forced his eyes opened, moving his fingers as much as he can, and then he felt another hand around his, fingers enveloping his own, squeezing them gently. He didn't need to look to know that it was her, it was Olivia.

He finally managed to focus on her, and she looked terrible. Her hair was askew, there were bags underneath her eyes, which were swollen and red. He couldn't speak, not with the mask over his face, so he moved his fingers against her, hoping that she would understand what he was trying to say.

 _I'm sorry._

She bit her lip, and he knew she was holding back her tears. He wanted to ask her not to cry, but it was kind of futile, when he felt his own tears building up. He was not stupid, he knew what was going to happen, and strangely enough, it didn't scare him. Maybe this was his retribution for what he did, he thought. Maybe, at the end of it, God decided that he had to be punished for the life he had taken.

He just didn't understand why other people had to be punished, too. His mother. Olivia.

It was getting harder and harder to breathe, his body growing heavy and listless through pain that had begun to dull to a restless sort of ache. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, things he wanted her to know. He wished he could have said a proper goodbye. He wished that he could have told her that he loved her.

As the white blur of his vision gave way to endless black and nothingness, he thought maybe he would have a chance to tell her in their next lifetime. He hoped he will.

 _I love you. I always have._

* * *

 _three: they say it's never too late (but sometimes it is)_

Two days after kissing her, rambling about colours, and how he was her now, Barba called Olivia from the airport and told her that he had bought a one-way ticket to Indonesia yesterday. And he was leaving today.

She drew a deep breath. There were a million things she wanted to say, but what came out was, "Indonesia? Did you just throw a dart at the map and picked to go wherever it landed?"

He laughed – god, he hadn't laughed in what seemed like forever – and told her, yeah, that was pretty much how he decided.

They were silent for a while, and they both knew the question that was in her head, _when are you coming back_ , and he hoped she would not verbalise it, because he did not have an answer for her.

She didn't; instead, she cleared her throat, and told him to contact her when he landed. "I just need to know you're okay." There was more to her words, and he knew it, but he chose not to think about it.

"I will," he said, and he did, in a short text message with his new Indonesian mobile number. She was the only one he contacted (his mother wasn't ready, and neither was he).

0-0

He spent three months Indonesia, and then he went to Malaysia, and stayed there for two months. And then to India (two months), South Africa (three months), and then he was in Spain, working at a non-profit organisation offering legal advice to the people who could not afford it. He had been in Spain for close to a month now.

And it had been almost a year since she last saw him, although it seemed a lot less than that. She had expected the days without him to drag by, but instead, they flew past. It was strange.

She heard from him all the time; he sent her photos, and postcards, and updated her briefly about what he was doing (volunteer work, mostly). There were sporadic phone calls now and then, especially when he shifted to a new country, but beyond that, they didn't say a word about _them_. About what he said the last time they saw each other. She still thought about it, after all this time, but if he was the same, he never showed it.

Their conversations began to dwindle with time, and they had begun to reach a level of superficiality. He had moved on, she supposed, and she almost resented how easy it seemed for him to move on.

So there was nothing she could do, really, except to start moving on herself.

She still didn't quite know how it happened. Probably it was born out of familiarity. She was trying to cope with the fact that she had somewhat lost her best friend (best friend and something more), and then someone else came along, someone who had always been there for her, just that she hadn't seen it.

When Trevor Langan asked her out, she was taken aback. Dinner, he said, where we won't talk about work. Of course she knew what it meant, and she hesitated, because Barba was still there, at the precipice of her heart.

But then again, she probably wasn't in his anymore.

One dinner became two, and then it became four, and then eventually, naturally, it became almost every night. Noah liked him, and she had to admit Trevor was really good with her son, better than Barba had ever been. She was comfortable with him; she knew his feelings for her, he never let her guessed how he felt, he told her straight, almost from day one.

There were no colours and no metaphors with Trevor. Moving on with him in her life was perhaps the best outcome for her.

0-0

The first time they were at Forlini's, she almost did an about face and left, because the memory of Barba was so strong, so overwhelming, and it took everything for her to steel herself and push herself through. Trevor never suspected anything; he still didn't know that it was _theirs_ , hers and Barba's. It had gotten a lot easier over time, although she still saw his shadow every time she stepped into the restaurant.

So when she actually did see him, one couldn't really fault her for thinking he was a mirage. After all, he had texted her two days ago and said nothing about coming back to Manhattan. She had been laughing at something Trevor said, when she looked up and her eyes met his.

She blinked, and he was still there, a small smile on his face, and then she realised it was no shadow, no ghost. Fifteen months later, and he was _here_ , walking towards her. He didn't look too different, still impeccably dressed, perhaps with a few more lines on his face. She felt her heartbeat speeding up, and she felt this irrational urge to run away – _why would she want run away_ , she thought, _there was no need to_ – but she was almost frozen in place.

He was in front of them now, his eyes bright as he looked at her. "Liv," he began, and then his gaze flickered downwards, where her fingers were linked with Trevor's. Realisation washed over him pretty quickly, and she could decipher every single emotion on his face, regret most of all.

Maybe he didn't move on, after all.

They were gone as fast as they came, his emotions, and when he looked at them again, his face was neutral, his smile carefully painted on. "I thought it was you," he said, almost without missing a beat. "I just thought…I'd come over and say hi."

She wanted to say something, but words were not coming out.

"Barba." Trevor stood up and stretched out his hand. "Good to see you," he said, shooting a sideways glance at Olivia, seemingly not understanding why wasn't she greeting her old friend. And then she finally got her mouth to work, flashing a weak smile. "When did you come back?"

"Yesterday," he said, his eyes focusing on a spot above her shoulder. "Well, I just wanted to…I mean…I…" he cleared his throat. "I won't disturb you two anymore." His gaze landed on hers again, briefly, fleetingly, before he averted his gaze. "Goodbye, Olivia," he said formally, and then, "Langan."

She almost wanted to run after him as he left, if only to tell him, it was his fault. She waited, she had waited for eleven long months, and he never said anything, never did anything. And she had moved on, it was too late, it was too late now, Rafael.

But she couldn't, and wouldn't, do this to Trevor.

So she let Barba go, because it was the right thing to do, because she had supposedly moved on, even if she had not, not really.

* * *

 _four: i've gone back to who i was (before you)_

Barba had joined the other side after he left her, quickly making a name for himself as one of Manhattan's top defense attorneys. He took on all the most high-profile, most difficult cases, defending drug lords, gang members, the occasional murderer, and won most of them. However, he avoided sex crimes like plague. No matter how much money he was offered, he simply wouldn't take any of them.

The reason was simple, of course, he didn't want to see her, and face up to what he had become. He didn't know how to fix himself, so all he could do was to break himself further. He wasn't worthy of her, he never was, and he never could be.

She deserved better after all, her and Noah. Not someone like him, with blood on his hands. There was more blood now; he couldn't wash off the blood of the baby, so he kept staining them further. He ignored all her calls and messages. He needed this clean break, erase who he was when he was with her, only then he could continue going on in the only way he knew how.

He had not seen her for almost five months, before he saw her again, at a conference in San Francisco. He didn't know she was going to be a speaker; he was sent to attend the conference by the firm because Rita had manipulated herself out of it.

It was during the pre-conference networking session. He was holding his tumbler of scotch and trying to avoid talking to anyone when he saw her, two metres away from him, sipping wine and gesticulating to her conversation partner. His first instinct was flight, to melt further into the crowd, so she would never know he was there. But because it was _her_ , he couldn't stop himself from looking at her. She hadn't changed. She was still beautiful.

She looked up then, and saw him. Surprise flitted across her face, and then he saw her eyes turning to steel as she made her way towards him.

"Because we're in public, so I won't slap you," she hissed when she reached him, and he recoiled, almost as if she _had_ slapped him.

"It's nice to see you, too, Lieutenant." He would not let her see how much her anger had affected him.

"What the fuck happened to you, Barba?" He knew what she meant by that one question, of course, but unfortunately, he didn't know how to answer her. He shrugged, taking a sip of his scotch, and chose to avoid most of it. "A man has got to make a living somehow, Liv."

Her face twisted fleetingly. "You said you were me."

"I say a lot of shit," he said, his tone flippant, ignoring the ache in his heart.

There was pain in her eyes, he saw, but it was quickly replaced by disgust and anger. "You're a fucking bastard, Barba."

It took all of his strength to smirk at her, to be the bastard she said he was. "And it took you this long to find out?"

She inhaled sharply, and then she pushed herself past him, and it was all he could do not to go after her, and to tell her that he was sorry, that he didn't mean it.

0-0

He didn't expect to hear a knock on the door of his hotel room close to midnight, didn't expect to see her standing there, and he certainly didn't expect her to launch herself at him, grabbing the front of his shirt and kissing him aggressively, angrily.

He responded just as fiercely – how could he not – before rationality descended upon him, and he pushed her away.

"Liv," he began. "What…?"

"Stop talking," she said, curling her fingers around strands of his hair, pulling his head closer to hers. "Stop fucking talking, because you owe me this. You _owe_ me." And he was lost again, as she pressed their mouths together, claiming dominance as her tongue slicked against his.

Her fingers were undoing his belt buckle as she pushed him against the closed door, unzipping his pants, hands snaking in to grip his erection. And he was sliding his hand up her skirt, gripping her thigh, as his fingers brushed against her panties. She was already wet, he found, almost ready, and he worked his fingers into her, rubbing her almost frantically.

She made a keening sound against his mouth, and bit down on his tongue as she freed him from his pants, stroking him to get him harder, and it really didn't take much at all, because he was feeling every bit of her. And it was all he ever wanted, all that he thought he would never have.

He pulled his fingers out of her, and tugged her skirt down, along with her panties, as she moaned and dragged him closer towards her. "Wait," he said, pushing her back. "Protection."

In response, she growled, and yanked his hair hard. "I don't care. I need you to fuck me. _Now_."

He never wanted their first time to be just _fucking_ , he had always imagined something else (sappy, tender, _loving_ ), but if this was all there was to it, he would take it. He lined himself up, bracing his hands on the wall, and then he slid into her in one, rough stroke. She was warm, and wet, clenching around him, and he felt his head spin a little, because it felt so good, and it was barely the beginning.

He was going to give her time to adjust herself, but she hooked a leg around his waist and raked her nails down his back. "Move," she ordered, and he obeyed, driving himself into her with quick, hard thrusts, building a fast, rough rhythm. He wished he could be gentler, but he couldn't, not with this all-consuming need, not with her heat holding him so tightly in its folds. She didn't want him to be gentle either, it wasn't what she needed or wanted. Their emotions were a jumbled mess, both him and her, and this was all they could hold on to.

"Harder," she gasped, and it was a sound filled with need, with anger, with desire, and perhaps a bit despair.

It was raw, it was desperate, and it was fucking _good_. Her nails dug into his shoulder blades, fingers tugging at his hair as he palmed her breast through her shirt, twisting her nipple as he continued thrusting into her. She pushed herself up a little, and sank her teeth onto his shoulder as she moaned. "Harder, harder…I need to _feel…_ " she faltered as he hit her at a particular deep spot. "Yes, yes, just like that, Barba, just…"

 _Barba_. She used his last name, and he felt something shattering in him, and he thought perhaps it might be his heart. He knew that he had lost her. Still, it was all his own doing, he had caused this.

He tightened his grip on her thighs as he bucked his hips against hers, knowing that there would be bruises when they were finally done. Her moans were changing in their pitch, and he knew that she might be close. He was close too, but he would hold out for her. There wasn't much he could do for her anymore; there was only this, giving her the release she needed.

She came with a muffled scream against his shoulder, her teeth breaking the skin there, and he followed soon after. He was going to pull out, but she wouldn't let him, holding him against her until he finished.

They collapsed into a heap on the floor, sweaty and panting, and still dressed. He turned his head to look at her, her eyes were half closed, her hair sweaty and plastered onto her face, and he thought that she had never looked more beautiful. Almost without thinking, he lifted his hand, and placed it gently on her head.

She stiffened, and then she flinched, sitting up and shifting herself away from his touch. She stood up unsteadily, locating her skirt and her panties. He pushed himself up, too, zipping up his pants as he watched her put on her skirt. She raked her fingers through her hair in a half-hearted attempt to tidy it, and then she turned to him. He could see it, it was on the tip of her tongue to say something hurtful, but then, she changed her mind.

She did something that was infinitely worse.

She didn't say anything, didn't even look at him. She merely opened the door, and then she slipped out without a word. The silence was deafening once the door closed, and he stared at it, wanting so desperately to throw it open and run after her. But he knew he didn't have the right to. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, but he knew that whatever it was, it was futile.

Because he was broken, he had somehow managed to break her, too.

He supposed he would never be able to forgive himself for this.

* * *

 _five: because it's you and me and us (i'll always come back to you)_

Barba had packed up his life before he headed out of the door for his last day in court. Whatever the verdict was, he wasn't going to come back; not to this life he had known for the last six years. And as suddenly as it had began, it was over. He expected to be found guilty, and while he was glad he wasn't, he didn't quite know what to _do_ now.

He couldn't go back to the DA's office, not even with McCoy's assurance. It was only after the trial when he realised how drained he was. Oh, he still loved the job, he still understood the meaning in it, but he was tired, so tired. He had to go, so he did. He might come back to it someday, but it would not be now.

It was Olivia that he couldn't seem to let go, despite saying goodbye to her five hours earlier. He was honest – as honest as he could be. She had changed him, from someone whose only goal in life was to _win_ (and to the hell with morality), to someone that actually cared. He was a much better person because of her, and ironically, this was probably also why the reason he had to leave. The old Barba would have gotten over this a lot faster, driven by his own logic and self-righteousness that he did what was right, but the new Barba wasn't who he used to be anymore.

Still, it had hurt, more than just a little, to leave her. He knew what she wanted him to say, most of all, and he nearly said it. He held back just in time, because if he had said it, he wouldn't be able to leave.

He glanced around at his apartment, where everything was in boxes. There was a packed suitcase; he was going to go away if he was found not guilty. He supposed that should still be the plan, buy a one-way ticket to nowhere and just crash. He pulled out his phone and logged onto a travel website, swiping randomly and half-heartedly, not even seeing the destinations properly.

He saw his machine blinking with a message, and he pushed the button, bracing himself for his mother's disappointment along with her relief. But it was not his mother, it was Olivia.

Her voice filled the room.

" _Rafael…I don't even know if you would get this. I mean, I could call your cell, but…"_ a nervous laugh _"But I guess, in my own way, I am just a coward like you."_

He tensed, waiting, as her voice continued. _"But I like to think I'm a little better than you, because at least I can say it now."_ She paused, and half a minute ticked by before she began speaking again. _"I love you. You're a coward, and an idiot, but I love you. I think I always have."_

He could his heart beating, thudding, as he stared at his answering machine.

" _I don't know what you're going to do, or where you're going to go, but I just need to let you know, that I'm always going to be here for you. I'm going to wait for you…so whatever is it, please come back."_

She laughed a little, a slightly choky sound that made him think she might be crying a little, too. _"And I hope you would hear this before you go off to where ever you want to go, because if you didn't, I am going to be so pissed off when you didn't come back to me. To us."_

If she had said anything more, he didn't hear it, as he was already out of the door, and he was running. Running towards her.

0-0

Her doorbell rang, impatiently and incessantly, and she was about to throttle whoever it was, because it was late and this person (Fin, maybe) was going to wake up Noah in approximately five seconds.

The scowl dropped from her face as she pulled her door open to reveal a panting, disheveled Barba, eyes wide and dark. They stared at each other for a while, she didn't think he would be here, even if she had hoped he would be. Because she had called him hours ago, and when there was no response, she thought he had left.

The first thing that she said was, "did you… _run_ all the way here?"

He leaned against her doorframe, catching his breath a little as he managed a wry smile. "Kind of."

The thought of Rafael Barba running fifteen blocks in the dead of winter and in his suit was confusing. "But…why?"

"Because," he said. "I'm an idiot."

With that, he took a step closer to her, and framed her face with his hands, his fingers cold, but somehow, they were warm as well.

And then he kissed her. Even though this was the first time they'd ever kissed, her mouth almost felt familiar against his, as if they had kissed before, countless times. She opened her mouth with a small sigh, allowing him to deepen the kiss as her fingers grasp the sleeves of his coat.

They were both breathless when they drew apart, and he rested his forehead against hers, a smile on his lips. He reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek as he pressed a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

"By the way," he said, "I love you, too."

She felt a laugh bubbling up in her chest, after all the stress, the pain, and the emotions of the day, she couldn't have guessed this was where they end up.

"Took you long enough."

With that, she looped her arms around his neck, and she kissed him again.

* * *

It's done! I spent so much time writing and rewriting, especially for all the angsty scenarios. Believe it, I wanted to make it fluffy and happy and stuff, but seriously, that fucking episode hurt so much (months later, I still cannot believe what they did to Barba), and all my anger had to go somewhere. In this case, it went to torturing my babies. Yeah, I don't know how that happened either.

For no.3, it was originally Peter Stone, but ugh, couldn't bring myself to even think of it *shudders* (because it looks like they might actually make it happen wtf)

Anyway, in some sense, I finally fulfilled my own promise to myself to fix it. Even if I did a lot of wrecking beforehand.

Feedback will be loved and appreciated!


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